


You'll Never Get Out of King County Alive

by Piper1016



Category: The Walking Dead, bethyl - Fandom
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, bethyl, bethyl as always, quick to smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piper1016/pseuds/Piper1016
Summary: My entry for the Meant To Be contest.





	

**Thank you to everyone who read and voted and thanks Ultimatebethylficlist for doing the contest. It was so much fun to write and read what others had written.**

* * *

 

Music blared from within the walls of the two story home. Vibrated, Beth decided was a better word, as she walked with her sister Maggie, up the steps and into the house. The living room was dimly lit with way too many people crammed inside. Way too many of the same people, huddled together in groups of three or four on the couches and other furniture. One couple in particular were getting way too friendly in the far corner. Smoke hazed at the ceiling, and everyone was talking loudly, some yelling, over the music.

Maggie looked to Beth raising her eyebrows, as if to say this was going to be a good time. Beth doubted as much, but was committed to being there. If anything, maybe she'd get a good buzz on before the evening was through.

She hadn't wanted to go out to begin with. Wanted to stay home in her pajamas and messy bunned hair, eating potato chips straight out of the bag. Maggie had taken one look at her disheveled state and forced her up and into the shower. Awaiting on her bed after she got out of the shower was the outfit Maggie had picked out for her - way too tight skinny jeans and a tiny tank top that showed about two inches of midriff.

Putting up an argument to stay home would've been futile, so she sucked it up and got dressed, topping the outfit off with her cowboy boots and leather jacket to ward off the chill of night and allowed her sister to drag her to some random guy's house where she promptly ditched her for a group of friends. Beth located the keg set up on the floor of the kitchen and pumped herself a solo cup of beer.

In no mood to socialize, she loitered there in the kitchen, sipping her beer. Nope, she was in no mood at all. Not after experiencing one of the worst weeks of her life to date. She and her boyfriend Zach were planning on moving to Nashville where they would work at whatever jobs they found and she would write and play her music and see what the town had to offer.

She wanted out of this hell hole small town so badly she could almost taste it. Wanted to be a singer more than anything. But then Zach broke up with her the day before they were set to leave. Said he wanted some space to figure things out, which, of course, meant he was already porking someone else.

The idea of staying stuck in this town made her almost pulsate with anger. She wanted more than this little town had to offer. Same people, same parties, same scenes. Same shit, different day. It was normal for people her age, nineteen, to want out of their parents house and out the two bit town in which they grew up, she supposed. She just felt she wanted it more than the average person. Now she was stuck here. All of her belongings were packed into boxes that she refused to unpack out of sheer stubbornness. Maybe if she didn't unpack, she would get up the gumption to move to Nashville by herself.

She was afraid to stay, but afraid to go at the same time.

So, here she was getting drunk in some guy's house. No life, no boyfriend, no escape from this town. No nothing. Still living in her parents house, working full time at a dead end job. Going no where, doing nothing. That pretty much summed things up. Feeling a bit dramatic, she rolled her eyes figuring her life for over, and drained the bitter liquid left in the cup.

She was no stranger to drinking, she had done her fair share in the last few years. She definitely had a wild side, having to keep up with big sister Maggie, who had an even bigger reputation of being able to drink anyone under the table. There really wasn't much else to do in this town anyway. Still, it wasn't something she did all of the time, not wanting to wake up one day her life half over and all she had to show for it was alcoholism. After the week she'd had though, she felt she was owed this. She deserved to let her hair down, so to speak.

_Wah, wah, wah_. God, she hated feeling sorry for herself, but she just couldn't help it.

Refilling it before plopping down at the rickety kitchen table, either it or she swayed a bit on the way to the chair. She probably should've ate. Along with the feelings of utter despair she'd experienced the last week, she also hadn't had much of an appetite.

Scrolling through Facebook on her phone, nursing her beer, the thought to socialize crossed her mind. Maybe finding where Maggie had wandered off too, when a tall, rangy man made his way to the keg. She barely spared him a glance. People had been milling in and out all evening, none really paying her any attention, or vise versa.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, she stood a bit too fast and stumbled. The man reached out with lightening fast reflexes, catching her before she fell into the countertop that was covered in various brands of beer cans.

"Whoa," he said, grasping Beth with one hand on her elbow, and the other placed solidly on her hip.

His deep gravelly voice sounded like he smoked a couple packs of cigarettes a day and washed them down with a pint of whisky, and she had to admit she wasn't hating it.

His voice wasn't the only thing she wasn't hating; he wasn't so bad to look at either. Shaggy dark hair hung out from a camouflage hat, his chin bristled with a beard. Well, not so much a beard as maybe he was too lazy to shave the last few days. His chiseled cheekbones jutted out from under piercing blue eyes, staring her down making her want to moan for some strange reason.

"Oh, umm," she stammered. "Sorry. Stood up too fast."

He nodded and kicked out a chair with a work booted foot, helping her back down to a sitting position. After he was sure she could sit up on her own, he released her, slid out the chair next to her.

"Better?" He questioned.

"Uh huh," she giggled, hating the way it made her sound young and immature. She cleared her throat and tried to explain, "I just got up too fast."

He eyed her empty cup, repeating her own words back to her with a sarcastic twist,

"Uh huh."

"I'm fine, really." As though she wanted to prove it to him, she leaned over in her chair and pumping the tap, poured herself another beer.

She tried to ignore this guy who seemed to watch her every move, making her feel extremely unsettled. Not in a bad way necessarily, in a thoroughly looked over kind of way.

Finally, when he only continued to stare, she asked, "What's your name?"

He was quiet so long, fixing her with those intense eyes, she thought he might not answer. Then, in that same rough voice, he said, "Daryl Dixon."

"Hi Daryl. I'm Beth," she offered him her hand.

Surprising her, he took her hand in his wonderfully calloused roughened hand, holding it a bit longer than was deemed necessary by public proprietary. And that was something this town thrived on: proprietary.

Dropping her hand, without taking his eyes off of her, he took a sip of his beer.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Who do you belong to?"

Taking affront, she asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

Beth knew full well what he meant, as she'd been asked that question a million times since birth. It was the way people down here asked who your family was. She never did like that question, this time being no different. It irked her she was asked it way more than her brother ever was.

In so many ways, their little town was set back a few decades in history. Rather than pursue a career or higher education, girls were, more often than not, expected to become mothers and wives and most did so before the age of eighteen. Consequently, to support their families, most every male either worked digging coal, or were farmers.

The feeling of wanting to escape this town, escape a destiny already picked out for her, encapsulated her stronger than ever. She feared her heart may combust right there at that tiny kitchen table.

Rolling her eyes, she said, "I don't belong to nobody but me."

He eyed her curiously and said, "You know what I mean, girly."

Ultimately, too tired to really care, she gave in and answered him, "Hershel Greene."

Daryl's right eyebrow rose so far it disappeared underneath his mangy bangs. "He your daddy?"

Beth snorted into her cup, taking another drink of her beer, resolved to take this one a little slower not wanting to be too hungover in the morning.

"Well, he sure the hell ain't my husband."

He laughed at this. Or, at least Beth thought it was a laugh. It was a single belch like sound akin to a laugh.

"Who do _you_ belong to?" She asked in retort.

"Myself." Was his only answer, taking a sip from his beer, peering at her over the top of the cup. "Do ya' work?" He asked after swallowing.

"I do. I'm a nurses aid over at the retirement home." The job itself wasn't so bad, but she was afraid she perpetually stunk like boiled potatoes and stale coffee.

"Where do you work?"

"The Mine," was his answer.

Bingo, thought Beth. Miner, or farmer. Either/or.

"Who ya' married to?"

Beth rolled her eyes, wondering why she had to be married at all? Why couldn't she just be her without any attachments to some sort of male figure. But hey, at least he thought her old enough to be married. Just as quickly, she scratched that idea. A lot of girls got married at sixteen around these parts.

Shaking her head in the negative, she snapped, "What is this? Twenty questions?"

Even though they'd been drinking for a while, and he'd been smoking, when he set those eyes on her again they were clear, bright. He waited her out with that fixed stare that made her want to squirm in her seat.

"I'm not married."

His eyes widened just the tiniest bit. "Really?" He asked, unbelieving. "Pretty thing like you?"

She knew it was dumb, such a cliche thing, but she was somewhat flattered he had called her pretty. Which pissed her off all the more, so she responded with a bit more venom than she meant to.

"You know, I have bigger goals in life than bein' someone's wife."

Looking amused, he asked, "That right?"

"Yep."

"And what's that?" he asked, surprising her. What did this (very handsome) stranger care what she wanted out of life?

She rolled her shoulder, "Something more than this coal-diggin' town." Then mumbling into her cup, she said, "But now that idea's shot to hell."

"You know what they say, right?" He questioned.

"What's that?"

"You'll never get out of King County alive."

Rolling her eyes yet again at his words. Oh yes, she knew this saying well. Lived it every damn day of her life. Those who were born in King, died there. It was a time warp of sorts, no one seemed to leave alive.

"Why's it shot to hell?" He asked. When she frowned at him, he reminded her of what she said, "You said your idea is shot to hell"

"Just a stupid scheme to find my way outta' here." She felt her face redden, embarrassed that she had ever been naive enough to think she may actually get out of this town, out of this state, at all.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "You can do anything you want to. You wanna' leave. Just go."

Beth was startled at his suggestion for her to 'just go'. He made it sound so practical. So easy. Like she really could just leave, just like that. This man obviously knew nothing.

"Yeah, because it's that simple," she snarked.

"It is. Unless, of course, you're afraid."

Don't take the bait, she warned herself. Counting out three long breaths.

"Screw you, I ain't scared," she said, then sighed. So much for not taking the bait.

If he was offended by her words, he didn't let on. He actually looked, well, amused. When he smiled a half grin, the left corner of his lip lifting, a slight sparkle in his eye, she almost melted onto the nasty kitchen floor.

"Okay, so maybe I am a little scared to go by myself,' Beth admitted. "But it's not my fault my boyfriend ditched me for Bimbo McBimboson."

He did laugh then, a deep chuckle that rose the hair on the back of her neck.

"You're a spitfire, aintcha'?"

Leaning in, she fixed him with what she hoped was a smoldering stare, "Oh, you have no idea."

Daryl leaned in the rest of the way, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked up to her with his eyes, a smoke hanging from his mouth, which somehow made him look all the more sexy.

"Listen, it's okay to be scared. Everyone's scared at some point in their life. Well, except for me, I ain't scare of nothin'," he smiled again, that cocky know-it-all grin that Beth found annoyingly endearing.

Reaching up, he took a drag from the cigarette, blowing smoke up and into the air. "But, you do it anyway. The fear will fade, and if nothin' else, at least you'll know that you tried."

Beth wasn't expecting that. Wasn't expecting his words to make total and complete sense. For the words to have the effect on her they did. Leaning back in her chair, tears welled in her eyes. Blaming the smoke, blinking the tears quickly away, she took a gulp of beer to wash away the sudden lump in her throat.

When she was sure her emotions were under control, and she wasn't going to make a complete fool of herself by bursting into tears in front of a stranger, she looked back to him and nodded. He seemed to understand what she meant to convey and nodded back.

After they sat in relative silence for a few more minutes, the sounds of the party surrounding them, she drained her fourth beer. Daryl scooted from the table, the chair legs making a scratching sound on the old and, Beth guessed to be, sticky linoleum. Oddly she felt sad at the idea of him, someone she just met forty-five minutes earlier, leaving. She enjoyed being with him, the idea of having someone there without the expectation of speaking appealed to her. In this world, too many people talked way too much. Similarly when he did speak his voice stirred something deep inside of her. The stirring was new, something she hadn't experienced before. And, if she was being honest with herself, he wasn't all that bad to look at.

To her surprise, though, he didn't leave. Instead he opened the olive green refrigerator, circa 1976, and retrieved a bottle of water. Bringing it back to the table, he sat it in front of her. Sliding back into his seat, kicking out those long legs crossing them at the ankles.

She looked at it skeptically, "What's that for?"

"You. Drink up," he told her, pushing it a little closer to her hand that rested on the laminate table top.

"You my chaperone now?"

He made a noncommittal grunt. "Jus' drink it."

Giving in after a moment, she unscrewed the top and said, "Yes sir, Mr. Dixon, sir."

She convinced herself that she was drinking the water because she had decided to slow down anyway, not wanting to suffer the consequences of being hungover in the morning. It had nothing to do with him. Nope. Nothing. Taking another drink she smiled to herself, sometimes her own bullheadedness astonished even her.

Followed by the lukewarm beer, the water tasted good and cold. When she pulled the bottle back from her lips she noticed something interesting. Daryl was watching her. More specifically, he was watching her lips. This excited her in an unusual way. Experimenting, she watched his eyes as she licked at the moisture, lightly sucking in her bottom lip. His pupils instantaneously dilated and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Interesting, indeed.

Taking another drink from his cup, he drained the alcohol. Leaning onto the table, idly rounding the cup in small circles with his fingers. Staring at it as though it held all the answers to the universe.

Mumbling, he said, "You don't seem near as innocent as you did when I first sat down here."

Leaning in closer, her knee touching his, she purred, "Baby, I can show you just how innocent I'm not."

His head tilted slightly downward, he looked at her out the tops of his eyes and countered "Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh."

"You sure ya' ain't married?" He questioned, more to stall what was happening than to be certain.

"Nope. You sure you're not?" She asked, realizing she never asked him in the first place.

"Emmhmm."

Feeling a tiny bit desperate from the week she'd had and a whole lot brave from the alcohol, taking a chance - because what the hell else did she have to lose, she placed her hand on his knee and leaned in an inch from his lips.

She questioned, "Want to make somethin' of it?" Her eyes dropping down to his lips.

"Maybe," he said gruffly, in return starting at her perfectly pink lips.

When she leaned in, the pressure of his lips on hers was exquisite. His lips were softer than she expected. Sweeter. Once he angled his head, placing his hand on her hip, pulling her closer, the kiss became so strong she felt it down to her toes, lighting her skin on fire along the way.

Her hand slid from his knee up to his thigh, squeezing lightly. His free hand, fingers thick and calloused, encompassed the side her face. She didn't expect that; the intimacy of his hot hand on her cheek, splaying into her hair, pulling her even closer. She angled her head to allow his tongue better access. Hot and wet it danced with hers.

Raising her hands, she placed them to his broad chest, his heart beat out firm and fast. The speed of which it beat sent a thrill through her knowing their kiss was doing this to him. It spurred on her bravery, her hands sliding from his chest down to rest on his belt, looping her fingers slightly inside the buckle, feeling a slight quiver in his lower belly.

Breathing heavily as she pulled back, she hadn't expected this. To feel such strong yearnings for a man she just meant. She didn't know him at all, but that somehow made her want him all the more. Beth was tired of games. More accurately, she was tired of games being played on her. Games always played themselves out and in the end everyone showed their true colors, just like Zach did.

An idea struck her then. What if she didn't expect anything of this? Instead, just let it happen. What if she just played it straight? And what if he did the same in return? The possibilities could be asstounding. Two people needing one another for

different reasons with no pretences.

He must of felt similar as he grumbled, "Damn, girl."

Feeling impulsive and maybe just a bit desperate, she breathlessly asked, "You want to get out of here?"

Briefly, so quickly that if she hadn't been sitting so close to him she would've missed it, his eyes grew wide before going to back to their half closed sultry look.

He cleared his throat, "Yeah, sure."

Scooting back from him and the table, she stood. "Let's go."

. . .

They snuck out of the kitchen door, bypassing the crowd as well as Maggie, in the other part of the house. Beth followed Daryl to a beat up old Ford that had seen better days, parked at the edge of the road.

Surprising her he went to the passenger side door, retrieving the keys from his jacket pocket. He unlocked the door, opening it for her. He was so casual about it, as though it was something he always did for a woman getting into his truck.

She climbed up onto the bench seat, it's worn woven interior scratched at the bare midriff of her back. Smelling of motor oil and pine thanks to the tree shaped air freshener that hung from the rearview mirror. As Daryl rounded the hood of the truck, she leaned over and unlocked the driver's side door for him.

When he climbed up behind the steering wheel, he spoke up. "She may not look like much, but I've had her since I was seventeen. Hard to let go."

It took a moment for Beth to realize what he was talking about. She never understood calling a truck 'she', but his affection for a truck and his inability to let it go, his sense of sentimentality, warmed her belly. It was sweet, she guessed.

"So, where we goin'?" She asked.

"You'll see," he mumbled gunning the engine to life.

They rode in companionable silence steering the way out of town, winding around a dark back road tunneled by trees. The further out they went, the darker the world became. The stars being the only light other than the headlights. Eventually he turned off and down another dirt road, more or less a path, to an inland lake. He parked at the water's edge of a boat launch, the water lapping quietly at the truck's tires.

Once he extinguished the head lights the black water of the creek reflected the stars in watery sparkles. It was so quiet, save for the water, croaking bullfrogs and the buzz of the crickets singing through the open drivers side window. Beth could almost close her eyes and actually relax.

"I fish here," he commented out of the blue, bringing her back to the moment.

"Oh yeah," she asked, a slight smile playing on her lips, "Wow, that's pertinent information."

He chuckled, reaching into his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. She liked that she could tease him. Liked that he had a sense of humor. Liked the way his laugh sounded. Even though she just meant him, she thought she might really like him given the time.

But they didn't really have a lot of time that night, so what the hell was she waiting for?

Throwing caution to the wind, she covered the expanse of the truck's seat and straddled his lap. Thanks to his long legs there was plenty of room for her to squeeze in between him and the steering wheel. She snatched the cigarette from his lips before he had a chance to light it and tossed it out the window.

"You won't be needing that," she told him. Not because she was against his smoking, she couldn't care less if he smoked. She just had better things in mind.

"Yeah, I think I do," he retorted.

He needed to smoke because this woman did something to him, something he wasn't sure how to handle. And now she was straddling his lap, his cock, that had never softened from their kiss in the kitchen, strained against the zipper of his jeans.

Leaning in, a breath away from his lips, she whispered, "I can give you something better to do with your mouth."

"Prove it," he countered.

He was half betting this girl was all talk. Tease him till it came right down to it, then she'd back off. He wasn't complaining though, he'd have fun with her as long as she let him. Then when she so much as peeped out a protest, he would back off. He'd spent worse evenings than in the company of a highly buzzed, beautiful blonde whether it lead to something more or not.

Taking the dare without a moment's hesitation, she grasped his scruffy bearded face in his hands and planted him with a kiss. His lips were cool from the night air, but warmed quickly when she moved hers over them, licking lightly with her tongue.

A groan escaped his throat. Encouraged by that rough sound that vibrated into her chest, she scooted even closer, melding into his body. Her fingers knocking off his hat as they tangled in his shaggy hair.

Bracing his hand on her hips, his thumbs tucked up under the hem of her shirt, rubbing back and forth, back and forth, along her bare skin. Rounding up under her shirt he splayed his palms flat against her back, feeling her protruding backbone as she arched her torso over him.

Soon it became more than just kissing and touching. She was warm and soft against his hard and muscled body. All female curves and sighs and touches. Her hair fell forward, encompassing him. Her shampoo or perfume, which the hell ever, made him ache. And when his hands cupped her breasts over the fabric of her bra, she moaned, breaking this kiss to trail her tongue around the edge of the of his ear, her hot air floating over his skin.

The tight space proved tricky with his broad shoulders and the steering wheel digging into her back, but somehow or another she managed to wiggle him out of his flannel jacket, and he in turn, relieved her of her cropped leather coat.

The windows were full on fogged when she finally came up for air, and he took that moment to flip her shirt up over her head. She leaned back, the cold plastic of the steering wheel jarring her hot skin. Her teeth caught her bottom lip in a playful expression that said she had a confidence she didn't really feel.

This was all a game, right? All she had to do was play it. And it wasn't as though she didn't want this, didn't want him. Because, good Lord, she did.

With this new found faked bravado she took Daryl's hand and cupped her breast. Pulling down the fabric cup of her bra, his hot hand covered her once again, pinching her nipple in between his splayed fingers. His left hand soon covering her other breast.

Arching with pleasure, she unabashedly moaned aloud. Before, with Zach, she would have never done that in fear of showing too much excitement. Even more, out of all the times she and Zach had had sex, he'd never made her want to moan like this, seemingly from her toes.

Leaning forward, he replaced his hand with his mouth practically sucking her entire breast in before pinching the nipple with his teeth.

"Damn, Dixon," she whispered into his hair.

All coherent thought left her mind at that point. Leaving her body, her senses, to take the lead. Reaching in between them she made quick work of his belt buckle and zipper, diving into the fly of his jeans palming his long, hard cock through the fabric of his boxers.

Now it was his turn to swear. Long and strained, the word, "Fuuuuck," ground out against her breast.

Beth giggled then, stroking him long and slow.

Leaning his head black against the headrest, eyes closed, a line of concentration forming in between his brows. Feeling the sensations of her tongue on his ear, his neck, his lips, how her hand stroking his hard cock felt.

It would be so easy to just let her finished him off like this. Just keep his eyes closed and let her small hand take over. But he didn't want it like that. He wanted her. To be buried deep inside of her. Capturing her lips in a kiss again. With renewed attention, her hand quickened in speed.

This was suddenly becoming very serious. It took every ounce of willpower he had to pull back and still her hand by grasping her wrist.

"Damn girl, hold on."

Thanks to the fully bright moon that now blazed into the cab of the truck, he saw the devilish look in her eyes. The look that said she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Not only that, but she was enjoying it too.

"Hold up. How old are you?"

"Old enough," she retorted.

Giving her a look that said he was serious, she rolled her eyes and wiggled her wrist free of his grasp. Leaning in, she traced his bottom lip with her tongue, biting lightly with her teeth.

_Please be over twenty, please be over twenty,_ he begged a God he was sure wouldn't approve of what they were doing.

"I'm nineteen."

Shit.

"Twenty next month," she clarified.

That only made it worse. Still young enough to make mention of when her next birthday was.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, because the blood ran elsewhere in his body, he said, "I'm 26."

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for more of an explanation. When he didn't explain further, she shrugged her shoulder.

"So?"

"So, is that a problem?"

"Nope," she said smiling that mischievous grin. Zach was twenty five.

Okay, she was legal. But... "Just how drunk are you?"

"What is with you and questions? Cain't you just go with the flow?"

He waited her out, her hand back on his dick. And as a matter of fact, he didn't go with the flow very often. He purposefully always knew his next move. He hadn't expected to meet up with a fascinating, beautiful and apparently sassy woman tonight, so he supposed he hadn't gone with the flow then. But he refused to be lenient about this. If she was too drunk to make decisions, then…

She let out a frustrated breath. "I graduated high school when I was seventeen because I busted my ass and graduated early. I've been working full time since then. Sometimes more than two jobs at a time. The only reason I've never lived on my own is because my Mama took sick and my folk's needed my help. My Mama's better now and I was all set to move to Nashville when my boyfriend flaked on me. I'm an adult. I'm very loyal and mature when I have to be. I've been doing what I want for a long time. I make my own decisions. Now, I want to blow off some steam with you. If you're willing."

She took in a breath, and just like that flipped a switch back to a seductive woman, mature beyond that of nineteen. Purring out her next words. "And, I am not drunk."

For some reason, he was impressed. She seemed smart, he didn't expect that to turn him on. Yet it did in a major way. She was tough, too. Could take care of herself. He liked how she just came out with what she wanted. No games. No pretences. He was also strangely impressed with her ability to handle her alcohol.

"Well, in that case," he said before reaching up and grasping her hair on either side of her head and bringing her crashing down onto his lips. Moving his hands to her back, he practically ripped her bra off before throwing it across the cab of the truck as she freed him of his boxers. Her hand on his bare skin felt as amazing as he'd imagine. Even better.

Then he went for her jeans, unsnapping and unzipping. He couldn't get her naked fast enough and he flung her on the seat next to him. And just as quickly, she shimmied out of her boots, jeans and panties.

Leaning over her, reaching out he pulled on the glove compartment handle but nothing happened. It was apparently stuck.

"What the hell?" he mumbled under his breath. Yanking at the handle three times more before rearing his fist back and punching it. The door fell open looking like an open mouth. The little light bulb shone too brightly against the darkened cab of the truck.

Beth couldn't restrain her laugh as Daryl reached in and retrieved a stack of

condoms, ripping one off, tossing the rest back in the general direction of the glove compartment. Turning his attention back to Beth, naked and wonderfully pale in the light of the still open glove compartment. He helped her back up and onto his lap where she, wasting no time, resumed her stroking of him.

Wanting to make her feel equally good, he traced his fingers from her nipple, down her concave belly, angling his fingers inward, finding her moistened slit. Applying pressure, making small circles with two fingers, he watched as Beth's head dipped backward moaning his name. Seeing her this way was almost more of a turn on than what she was doing with her hand. It hurt like a bitch to have his wrist bent at such an angle, but he didn't care. He'd walk over hot coats to see this woman reacting to his touch in this way.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Beth was impressed. Most men seemed scared of her body, or women's bodies in general. Sure, they talked a good game but when it came right down to it, they were all fumbling boys. Not this one, though. Daryl knew just the right pressure, just the right motion. The calloused pad of his fingers frictioned against the delicate skin of her clit. The way he just seemed to know where to touch, where to suck, where to lick. How to kiss her with such passion it made her toes curl. Yes, this man knew exactly what he was doing.

She couldn't wait any longer and slid the condom packet from his free hand, pressing it to his chest.

Taking it from her, his voice hoarse with need, he asked, "Ya' sure?"

More sure than he realized. She nodded her okay.

He wasn't a stupid man and didn't need any further instructions. Without dropping eye contact, he tore open the package with his teeth and lifting his hips, pulled his jeans and boxers down as much as the space allowed. Freeing his cock fully, it lolled back and forth slightly. Large and engorged, the head bright red. He grasped it in his hand and rolled the condom down over it.

Beth lifted her hips and slowly impaled herself onto him. Taking a moment, she allowed herself to feel all the sensations of his body joining hers. The magnificent pressure, his hardness against her softness. The agonizing pressure/pleasure when he returned his thumb to her clit.

Beginning to move, Daryl couldn't hold off any longer. She was too tight, too wet, too hot. Raising and lowering his hips, her body followed suite. One would think that having sex in the driver's side of a pickup would be less than optimal, which it was, but it also had its advantages. The small space didn't allow Beth to spread her legs much beyond the outside of Daryl's thighs, adding to the tightness of her body. The friction was maddening. In a good way.

"Damn, girl. You're tight as a fist 'n hot as a fire."

All it took was those words, quite possibly the best complement any man had ever given her, along with the quick circles of Daryl's thumb on her center, combined with the pressure of his cock sliding past that spongy spot inside of her every time he reentered her body, to send her over the edge. That quickly. She'd never come so quick, so fast, so hard in her limited sexual history.

Beautiful, was the only coherent thought Daryl seemed to be able to muster. Her head arching back offering her throat as if in some sort of ritualistic sacrifice, her hair trailing down her back. Moaning his name. _His_ fucking name.

Daryl held off as long as he could after that, so as not to embarrass himself. After Beth came, she got so tight and swollen, it made it all but impossible to wait. And when she smiled that sexy smile, reaching down in between their bodies she cupped his balls, squeezing ever so slightly. He let out a long groan that turned into her name and shot his load inside of her.

. . .

Everything went silent. Still. Daryl felt his heart beating triple time and that's the only way he knew he was alive at all. He thought for sure he had to be dead after an experience like that. His eyes came back into focus and there was a living angel sitting on his lap. Since he was semi-sure he wasn't dead, he waited a heartbeat, then two, just to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

Beth didn't fade into darkness, just sat there staring at him with large beautiful eyes gone dark with lust. She seemed reluctant to talk and he was unsure how long he'd been out of commission. Surely it was only seconds, but who really knew. He cleared his throat and spoke first.

"That was... uhh..."

Yep, real smooth Daryl.

"Amazin'?" She filled in for him.

He nodded, audibly swallowing. "Yeah. Amazing."

Beth shifted then, regrettably off of his lap and onto the seat next to him, reaching for her underwear and jeans. He had this inexplicable urge to (gasp) hold her. Something he'd never felt before. Or to kiss her. To tell her something sweet. Something other than hurry and put on and rearrange their clothes. He wanted nothing more than to spend some more time basking in the glory that was her body.

But he didn't say a thing. Just watched out of the corner of his eye as she shuffled back into her jeans. As she was searching for her bra her phone buzzed from somewhere. Searching, she located it in her jacket pocket. Squinting at the screen, she sighed, annoyed by whatever it said.

"Shit. My sister's looking for me," she explained, locating and slipping the short fitting top back over her head.

"How long we been gone?" Daryl wondered.

It couldn't of been too long. Wondering why she was getting dressed so fast. Was she regretting what had happened?

Of course she was getting dressed, Daryl admonished himself. What did he expect? Her to profess her undying love for him. Or for his penis?

_Dumbass._

"Almost an hour," Beth said checking the time, typing in a quick text to Maggie: Be there soon.

Beth shoved her bra into her jacket pocket, along with her phone and threw it on, zipping it up. Looking at Daryl expectantly. Her eyes went from his, down to his lap.

Giggling rather shyly, he'd yet to readjust his clothing.

"Shit," Daryl mumbled, opening his door and hopping out, getting rid of the well purposed condom, pulling his pants back up.

Quick enough, they were back on the road, heading to the house they'd left only an hour before.

. . .

There were less cars parked in the drive and up and down the road along the house, but music still thumped through the walls clear into the truck. Parking, shutting off the engine, Daryl wanted to say something, but couldn't figure out what the hell that might be.

'Yeah, thanks for the best lay of my life', didn't seem right. 'Can I see you again' seemed a bit better. Though not by much, especially if she didn't want to see him again. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked at her. Her lips swollen and glistening in the dark, she smiled. Really smiled, like she didn't regret what just happened as he initially worried.

"Come here," he said in a low voice. She obliged and he met her halfway over the bench seat. He placed his lips to hers. Calmly, gently, but with no less fire. Eyes fluttered closed, there was a buzz, either his or hers, maybe both. He wondered if Beth felt it too, because he sure the hell felt something. Something more than just a kiss.

Sighing, as though she didn't want to she pulled away, affectionately laying her brow to his.

"Can I see you again?" He decided to man up. Afterall he was just inside of her.

What was the big deal about asking to see her again?

Before she had a chance to answer, a woman looking about as pissed off as a wet cat in a hurricane, banged on the passenger window. Immediately she began yelling at Beth through the partially opened window.

Beth sighed again, this time in annoyance as she scooted back over to the passenger side and opened the door to greet Maggie.

Daryl joined her, quickly rounding the truck, not wanting to leave her to deal with this very pissed off woman on her own.

"Where they hell were you, I been looking all over for you!"

"I uhh..." Beth stumbled. This surprised Daryl. She didn't seem like a take shit kind of person.

"It's my fault," Daryl spoke up, surprising himself and judging by the look on Beth's face, surprising her as well. "We go way back and just happened to run into each other here. We took a ride to ... to...ta' catch up."

Maggie looked at Daryl and then Beth

"Right, Beth?" Daryl asked, elbowing her lightly in the side.

"Yeah, uh huh."

"How do y'all know each other?" Maggie questioned, rightfully skeptical.

Beth seemed to snap out of it then, "It's none of your concern."

She spoke matter-of-factly, with no venom or anger. Just stood her ground with her too nosey of a sister. It kind of made Daryl proud.

"Let's go," Beth said to Maggie and started to walk away.

As the space between them grew, so did a chasm in Daryl's chest, making it more and more difficult to breath with each of her retreating steps.

"Beth," he called out before she got too far.

Turning, walking backwards, Maggie a few steps ahead of her, Beth rose her eyebrows waiting on him to speak.

For a lack of what else to do, he nodded. Nodding in return, she winked at him. No words were needed to be spoken.

. . .

Beth was silent on the way home, tuning Maggie out as she went on and on about how unsafe it was to wander off with strange men and how she didn't buy for one second that they knew each other beforehand. And who was he anyway? What was his name, who was his daddy?

The buzz from the alcohol she had drank earlier in the evening was wearing off and her head was beginning to pound. And even if she didn't drink enough to warrant it, her stomach began to feel queasy. Her body, though... her body felt pleasantly used. Hips aching from sitting at an uncomfortable angle atop Daryl's lap. At the time she hadn't realized it, but now her hips and inner thighs burned. Her lips felt swollen and bruised. When Maggie finally pulled into their parents driveway, Beth retreated up the stairs to the back porch, her legs pleasantly weak.

Maggie went wordlessly up to her room and Beth retreated to the bathroom where she stripped off her clothes, tossing them into the hamper near the pedestal sink. She hung up her leather coat on a hook on the back of the door and nearly forgot about the bra she had stuffed into the pocket. Retrieving it, she fingered the strap that had indeed snapped at the seam. A smile played across her lips then, remembering how eager Daryl had been to get his hands on her bare skin. Surely, that hadn't been an act. He had really wanted her. Wanted to be with her.

That made her smile broaden. She had to find a way to see him again, because how could she not? She didn't know where he lived or his cell number. He worked diggin' coal. So did half the town. So, for right now, she would cling to the memory of the few hours they'd spent together.

. . .

**Loosely based on the song _You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive_ by Patty Loveless. **


End file.
